


Could never love by halves

by queenofchildren



Series: Big Damn Regency AU [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Outtake, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8164910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: As promised: The wedding night from Call it Patience, Call it Hope in all its smutty glory. Since I could not resist adding an extended wedding night scene but did not want to raise the rating on Call it Patience, I made it a different work. Beware: lots of feelings. So many feelings. They are very much in love, it's actually a little sickening.You should probably have read Call it Patience, Call it Hope before this.





	

 

The sun had long since set on Clarke and Bellamy's wedding day, but their friends showed no signs of tiring. So raucous were their celebrations (from which the older generation had retired a while ago), that the group failed to notice when the bride and groom eventually lost patience and simply snuck off.

The sound of jokes and banter and a shrill jig when one of Bellamy's friends fetched a fiddle followed them outside, but Clarke registered none of it. Her entire being was focused on the point where Bellamy's skin met hers, her gloves having been discarded long ago. It was only his hand in hers, and yet it seemed to signify all that the future, near and far, held in store: the gentle strength of his touch, the breathless joy it awakened within her, and the knowledge that his hand would be hers for as long as she wished.

And then the bedroom door closed behind them, and anything related to the far future simply slipped from her mind.

Clarke had longed for this moment - had, in fact, tried to bring it about sooner. Between sweet kisses, she had endeavoured to persuade her affiancéd to let his hands stray further, arguing that they would be married soon and so there would be no need to wait (especially since she was already ruined). But Bellamy had been adamant about waiting to consummate their marriage until they were actually married, to the point where Clarke had begun to worry that he somehow resented her impurity, despite all protestations to the contrary. When she had voiced those fears, however, he had explained that the only reason for his superhuman patience had been to show her, once and for all, that he would treat her differently than the man who had made her so unhappy before. And while Clarke had never had any doubts on that score, she was quite moved by the sentiment, and determined to show the same restraint as he.

Which had been difficult, to put it mildly, and so when Clarke entered their bedroom, there was very little capacity for patience left within her.

Bellamy, on the other hand, behaved like he had all the time in the world. When she suggested to ring for Harper to help her quickly get out of her dress and into her nightclothes, he protested the notion.

"Let me," he murmured, already turning her so that she faced away and he could access the top of her dress. And for all that it would probably take him much longer than it would Harper to unwrap her from her layers of cloth, Clarke let him, heartbeat already speeding up even when she felt no more of him than his warmth at her back and his soft breaths rushing past her ear.

To her surprise, he did not begin his mission with her clothes. He took off her jewelry instead, and in a manner that suggested she may not make it down to her underclothes with her legs altogether working. The whisper of the necklace against her skin already made her gasp, his fingertips stroking along her earlobes when he plucked off her earrings caused a shiver to run down her back... and then he took the pins out of her hair.

“Do you remember that night in the carriage, when we were chasing after Octavia?“

Clarke smiled softly to herself. Oh yes, she remembered.

“Vividly.“

He kept pulling pin after pin out of her hair and letting them tumble to the floor.

"I wanted to do a great many things to you that night... But I longed for nothing so badly as to be allowed to undo your hair and run my hands through it."

His preparatory work finished, he did just that, softly loosening up the tightly coiled curls to let them fall down her shoulders and slowly easing the strain the tight coiffure had put on her scalp. When he carded his fingers through her hair, Clarke sighed in bliss, and he repeated the motion until there was not one tense muscle left in her body.

Then, and only then, did he undo the buttons on the back of her dress so Clarke could slip out of the sleeves and let it fall to the floor. Given that they were not in a carriage and had sufficient light from the candles lit around the room, his movements were much more deft than the last time, and soon her stays were loosened and Bellamy, after pressing a lingering kiss to the slope of her neck, pushed them down to join her dress on the floor.

The moment the garment hit the floor, he whirled her around to face him, holding her at arm's length as if to inspect her. She could practically watch his eyes darken as they travelled down the length of her body, hidden only beneath a thin, almost translucent layer of cloth, and the tips of her breasts hardened with anticipation. But he only looked, waiting for she knew not what while she was aching to be touched, every breath she drew causing the thin linen shift to drag across her sensitive skin and send a jolt straight to her core until she could take no more waiting.

She took one of his hands and placed it upon the swell of one breast, noting with heady satisfaction his sharp intake of breath, the slight tremble of his fingertips where they rested on her skin above the edge of her shift.

"You are my husband now. Everything you see is yours to touch."

And then he finally did, fingertips dancing along the edge of her chemise as his lips descended on hers. Clarke pulled on the strings that held the garment together at the top, and after a quick shimmy of her hips, it gaped open and fell down to pool at her waist. But if she had expected to speed things up by this action, she was sorely mistaken: first, Bellamy drew back, his hands resting motionless as he gazed upon her near-naked form. Then, when she grew impatient and reached out for him, he leaned forward and slowly, gently pressed a kiss to the curve of one breast.

"Patience is a virtue my love."

She could feel his smile where his lips curved against her delicate skin, and Clarke had never felt less virtuous.

"Not one which I possess, I am afraid."

Her response made him chuckle and, more importantly, set him into motion again, his lips dragging maddeningly slowly across her skin to finally, finally close around one stiff bud.

Clarke let out a relieved sigh and closed her eyes, reveling in the way the small contact sent bolts of pleasure straight through her, and soon put her legs in danger of giving out under her. When he pulled back to look at her heatedly, Clarke stumbled backwards and onto the bed, and Bellamy only took the time to struggle out of his tight, formal breeches before following her and lavishing the same kind of attention on her other breast.

The reverent touch of his lips was already enough to make her tremble and sigh. But when his hands slowly slid up her thighs to brush ever-so-gently against the springy curls and slip through her slick folds, she had to press her fist to her mouth to keep from moaning out loud - only to find herself suddenly bereft of all of his touches. She mewled in protest, but was quite ignored. He took hold of her hands instead, pulling them up above her head to fix them there, his big hand easily gripping both her wrists.

"Do not stifle a single one of your sounds. I want to hear you. I want to know the sound of your every breath and sigh and moan", Bellamy declared ferociously, and Clarke almost let out a loud moan right then. His commanding voice, the shackle of his strong fingers around her wrists, and the way the position arched her back in an almost lewd manner - it was all so unbelievably erotic that Clarke was quite sure she would simply burst into flames before he could so much as take his shirt off. Which, she thought vaguely, he really should. For judging by everything she had discovered about his chest so far - its solidity and strength and the texture of muscles hidden under cloth - she had reason to believe it must be a sight to rival Michelangelo's David himself.

Then she thought nothing coherent anymore, for he let go of her hands and returned his attention to her breasts, and to other, more intimate places. But this time, the position of his hands and lips were reversed: while he gently rolled and tugged one nipple with his fingertips, his mouth continued its path way past her breasts, down and down and straight to where she was aching for him the most.

Clarke sucked in a sharp breath - he could not possibly mean to…?

But he did. Gently pushing her legs apart, he pressed the softest of kisses to the top of her sex, the spot where she sometimes, late at night, allowed herself to touch. But this was a very different touch indeed, alternating between soft licks, swirls of the tip of his tongue, and short, hard sucks on that little button. Clarke was quite sure that, if she was not supposed to touch there herself, what Bellamy was currently doing was very much not something decent people did, ever - but she'd be damned if it was not the most amazing sensation she had ever felt. She was swept away in a sea of sensation the likes of which she had never experienced, up and up and up until the waves crested over her, and it was only the feeling of Bellamy's hands on her hips, his hair clutched in between her fingers, that anchored her and kept her from flying up and out of this world.

When she floated back down, it was to find Bellamy next to her, pressing a kiss to her sweaty temple while his hands danced slow figures across her sensitive skin.

"I take it you're enjoying yourself?", he asked, smug smile indicating that he knew very well her answer would be a resounding Yes.

Clarke laughed, embarrassment adding fresh layers of scarlet to her already heated cheeks. "I am. But I am certain I should not be, for surely no lady ought to enjoy herself in such a manner."

She was joking, but not entirely - too deep ran her fear of being found lacking in virtue by the one person whose opinion she valued more than all others. But like all other aspects of her character, Bellamy was aware of that fear, and ready to disperse it.

Rather than let her get away with feinted levity, he looked at her seriously.

"Promise me this, Clarke: That in the privacy of our home, you will never be a lady, nor I a lord. That between ourselves, we will only ever be _ourselves_ , and not allow any body to judge us.”

It was an almost blasphemous suggestion, but he was right: She was sick of being judged and acting only in anticipation of such judgment. And with him, she need no longer do so.

Forcing her heavy arm to move, Clarke twined her hand around the back of her husband's head to pull him down for a long, slow, kiss. It took her a moment to understand that the unknown taste on his lips was, well, herself, and surely that was even more scandalous than anything they had ever done before.

Heart and body soaring with joy and fulfilment, Clarke pulled him close, her other hand sliding down the side of his chest to find the hem of that blasted shirt and finally get rid of it.

"I promise." And pulling up the fine linen with such ferocity that she almost tore it in half, she growled: "Now come here and make me an honest woman."

Bellamy laughed. "I'm not sure it is this exact part of the wedding day that is supposed to achieve that."

But despite his teasing, he shifted so that he was settled in between her legs, where she was slick and soft and aching for him.

"It is, however, the part I was looking forward to the most," Clarke announced with an impish smile, and was rewarded for her cheek when Bellamy groaned and rocked his hips against hers.

Then there was no more time for jesting and teasing, for Bellamy kissed her, long and deep, and slowly started to push inside her; pausing every so often to let her adjust to the near-painful tightness. But with the help of slow, drugging kisses and gently roving hands, it was not long before she could signal for him to move more vigorously, and a warmth spread throughout her that was much like the kind of bliss she had just experienced - only now she could reach up and pull him even closer, reveling in how completely he surrounded her.

She could let her hands wander all over his body and feel his muscles tighten with each thrust; could run her hand through his hair and hold him in place when he kissed her neck and the sensation amplified the feelings he was evoking further down her body. She could ignore the faint strains of off-key music drifting in through the open window in favour of listening to his harsh breaths and strangled groans as his thrusts got more urgent. He was climbing the same pinnacle she had reached earlier, and was starting to climb once more herself, although at a much more leisurely pace than he.

Bellamy confirmed her suspicion not a moment later.

"I am afraid I will not last much longer, my love."

There was such regret in his voice that Clarke had to smile fondly. Had she not had her fill of pleasure? And yet her husband seemed to worry about selling her short.

"Then don't. We have all our lives to continue this, do we not?"

He chuckled shakily, then buried his face in her neck to place a series of hot, wet kisses on her pulse that made her squirm.

It took no more than a few quick, irregular thrusts for him to reach his completion too, and Clarke held him close as he recovered, feeling his heartbeat race in his chest.

In the breathless silence that settled over them, Clarke thought, suddenly, of the concept of the marital duties - which, technically, they had both fulfilled admirably. But there had been nothing dutiful about the encounter, and Clarke felt an incredulous laugh bubble up in her throat. After years of listening fearfully to whispers of these marital duties, after worrying what exactly they might entail and whom she might be forced to carry them out with, this was the reality of her wedding night: Love, and pleasure, and an eternity more of it to share with the most wonderful man on earth.

 

***  
  


Despite the night's exertions, Clarke woke up early - perhaps the morning sun had tickled her awake; perhaps her mind had decided there was too much happiness to be found to waste any time with sleep. Either way, she was awake, and at leisure to study her new husband to her heart's content, from the tangled mass of curly hair down the planes of his chest and the hollow between his hipbones. The bedsheet put a very inconvenient stop to her assessment at that point, and Clarke briefly entertained the thought of lifting it off to be able to see more of him - and touch as well, perhaps?

But before she could put her plan into motion, he opened his eyes, gaze immediately falling on her.

"Good morning."

And then he smiled, and the morning sun seemed suddenly no brighter than a flickering candle stump. Her new husband was a handsome man at all times, but in this moment, with the white sheets bringing out his bronze-gold skin and the stark morning light making his freckles stand out clear enough to count them, he was nothing short of beautiful.

Sadly, Bellamy only took the time for a quick peck on her lips before he picked up the shirt still hanging from the nearest bedpost and pulling it over his head, cutting short her pleasant pastime. It was a prudent decision, seeing as one of the maids might come in soon to make a fire, but she still much preferred to be able to look at him. Only when that thought had passed through her mind was there space for another one, and she registered what she had just glimpsed before the shirt had covered it up...

“What is that on your back?“

Bellamy looked at her over his shoulder, brow knotted in confusion, and actually raised his hand to feel what horrifying disfigurement she could have spotted on his back. Then his face cleared up in understanding and he pulled down the back of his shirt so she could confirm what she had seen. 

“It's called a tattoo.“

Clarke had heard of those, in one of her Godfather's stories: drawings and writings etched into the skin to remain visible forever; a practice sailors had picked up from some native tribe ages ago. She had been fascinated by the idea, the use of the human body as a canvas, but she had never actually _seen_ one before.

And this one... this one was beautiful: a compass rose in black ink, with a length of rope wound around the center; all straight lines and sharp points and steady determination.

“I hope you're not too shocked by the reminder that your noble husband was a sailor once.“

He said it jokingly, but she recognized his tone – it was the same tone she used when trying to make light of something that troubled her.

Without thinking, Clarke clambered to her knees, not bothering to cover up, and lifted her hand to trace the elegant lines on his shoulder blade.

"I love that my husband used to sail the world. I am sure he knows the most outrageous stories!“

And because his shoulders were still tense, she pressed a soft kiss to the mark on his skin, surprised not to find it raised or rough. “Does it signify something?"

He relaxed under her arms, then turned around fully to explain.

"It offers protection from the seas, and it lets a sailor always find his way home." He looked at her pensively for a long time, then wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her close. "And the charm seems to have worked." He bent down to steal a quick kiss, then drew back to explain: "I found you."

Clarke smiled affectionately, half stirred by his words and half exasperated. Who would have thought that this ill-mannered, prideful, temperamental man she had detested so much at first would turn out to be more charming than any seasoned London libertine? Certainly not her.

She pulled back from his embrace to let her eyes wander across his broad frame with obvious curiosity.

“Do you have any others?”

All the pretend innocence slathered onto her voice could not disguise her true intentions – and Bellamy noticed. He grinned wolfishly, then took both her hands to pull her flush against him.

“You'll have to search for them yourself.”

And, laughing brightly, she did just that. Very thoroughly.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I promise, now it really is over. Off to new shores. A continuation of Cowboy!Bellamy perhaps? Jurassic Park AU? Decisions, decisions!  
> Anyway, it's been fun, hope you like it bc I'm not that practised at smut and this was hellishly difficult.  
> Once again, shout-out to Nourgelitnius, who took the time to discuss questions of hygiene, toilets and underwear in regency times and how they might impact the sexytimes. Yep. That is a thing that happened.


End file.
